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Farewell Mikal the Ram
Aug. 18th, 2008 03:39 pmMaster Eadweard Boicewright sent this missive with bowed head and heavy heart:
Draw the children close and speak to them softly. Hold them tight, dry their tears as well as your own.
This day there is one less empty bench in Bragi's Hall. Master Mikal Hrafspa, (Mikal the Ram) who referred to himself as an annoying Bard with no redeeming qualities, has taken to the Swan Road one last time.
At 2:15 18 August 2008 he was welcomed into the famed hall of the Skalds and offered his rightful seat near the fire to rest his body for ever more. There his horn will never be empty of mead. His feet never weary from fire walking. Where he can tell tales and sing songs to his
hearts content.
His only regret may be that he will never again be able to tell a King that he must turn down a royal invitation and go off to tell tales to the most important people of Calontir, the children. And that the cries and clamor to hear Uncle Master Mikal will be heard no more.
Though the wails of mourning can be heard in his house, His pyre is being prepared. The Oracles are being consulted for the proper time and place. When this is divined, word will be sent forth for those wishing to Honor him.
Roust the Heralds and send them forth to spread this sad news throughout the Kingdom and Known World.
***
In my own words:
May he find his old friend Cormac there, with ready mead and a new tale for him. May Master Blackfox laugh with them and join the singing while Clan Blue Feather's lamented Signi stands guard with the Valkyries against the encroaching giant hoards.
And so cancer claims another.
***
In Mikal's own words
Chorus:
Gather ye pipers and long chanters blow
Fetch drum and the tabor, and play a march slow
I raise my cup
And pledge drink to thee
I raise now my cup towards the dark sea
To these northern island, the Hebrides high
Where oft landed longships, beneath the grey sky
Come blow the great horn
Maids come to the shore
They blow the great horn but the ship comes no more
Chorus
I drink to ye Ian, who sailed with the tide
And young brother Jamie, the sea steed to ride
And Eric for gold
And Sean his keep
They sailed for the gold, but beneath waves they sleep
I sit by the fire, lost and alone
Four empty places, and one who stayed home
I drink to my kin
Who walked Njord's road
I drink to my kin who'll drink here no more
Gather ye pipers and long chanters blow
Fetch drum and the tabor, and play a march slow
I raise my cup
And pledge drink to ye
A cup of our blood to quench the dark sea
Draw the children close and speak to them softly. Hold them tight, dry their tears as well as your own.
This day there is one less empty bench in Bragi's Hall. Master Mikal Hrafspa, (Mikal the Ram) who referred to himself as an annoying Bard with no redeeming qualities, has taken to the Swan Road one last time.
At 2:15 18 August 2008 he was welcomed into the famed hall of the Skalds and offered his rightful seat near the fire to rest his body for ever more. There his horn will never be empty of mead. His feet never weary from fire walking. Where he can tell tales and sing songs to his
hearts content.
His only regret may be that he will never again be able to tell a King that he must turn down a royal invitation and go off to tell tales to the most important people of Calontir, the children. And that the cries and clamor to hear Uncle Master Mikal will be heard no more.
Though the wails of mourning can be heard in his house, His pyre is being prepared. The Oracles are being consulted for the proper time and place. When this is divined, word will be sent forth for those wishing to Honor him.
Roust the Heralds and send them forth to spread this sad news throughout the Kingdom and Known World.
***
In my own words:
May he find his old friend Cormac there, with ready mead and a new tale for him. May Master Blackfox laugh with them and join the singing while Clan Blue Feather's lamented Signi stands guard with the Valkyries against the encroaching giant hoards.
And so cancer claims another.
***
In Mikal's own words
Chorus:
Gather ye pipers and long chanters blow
Fetch drum and the tabor, and play a march slow
I raise my cup
And pledge drink to thee
I raise now my cup towards the dark sea
To these northern island, the Hebrides high
Where oft landed longships, beneath the grey sky
Come blow the great horn
Maids come to the shore
They blow the great horn but the ship comes no more
Chorus
I drink to ye Ian, who sailed with the tide
And young brother Jamie, the sea steed to ride
And Eric for gold
And Sean his keep
They sailed for the gold, but beneath waves they sleep
I sit by the fire, lost and alone
Four empty places, and one who stayed home
I drink to my kin
Who walked Njord's road
I drink to my kin who'll drink here no more
Gather ye pipers and long chanters blow
Fetch drum and the tabor, and play a march slow
I raise my cup
And pledge drink to ye
A cup of our blood to quench the dark sea
